Listening to the words
there is no connection, no thought
that can be completed. The chain of
adjectives, nouns, verbs, just a
construct of melodramatic filled
punctuations blurted in the audible
range of hearing.
The moment is oppressive, hot,
the mind boxed into a submission of
recognition. There is no agreement
there is no disagreement, only the words.
A verbalized water boarding of consciousness,
torturing the inner spirit and wasting
Each, “Did you hear what I said,” clubbed
to oblivion with an angst mallet. Any effort
to communicate is swallowed, digested,
deposited on a compost pile of the steaming
rotted past. What was will never be again,
what is said can not be forgotten,
its stench a constant reminder.
“I’ve said all I’m going to say,” relief,
reprieve from the incessant diatribe of an
emotional downpour, collected in a gutter,
cascading into the sewer, disappearing into a
sea of insanity . The ocean is once again placid,
serene, gently rocking life’s fragile boat, until
the next storm looms over a tomorrow horizon.
Copyright: 2008, Donald Harbour